Turn! Turn! Turn!

It seems rather appropriate that during most of December, 1965, this song (Turn! Turn! Turn!) by the Byrds (https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=turn+turn+turn+by+the+byrds&qpvt=turn+turn+turn+by+the+byrds&FORM=VDRE) was number one on the Billboard charts.  As the introductory lyrics indicate:

                             To everything (turn, turn, turn)
                             There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
                             And a time to every purpose, under heaven

                             A time to be born, a time to die
                             A time to plant, a time to reap
                             A time to kill, a time to heal
                             A time to laugh, a time to weep

 

52 years later, these ancient words from the Book of Ecclesiastes (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turn!_Turn!_Turn!), written perhaps 2800 years ago, still remain timeless and prophetic.  Christmas is a time for many of us to gather around with family members and celebrate the birth of Christ according to one's traditions.  When we were younger, we usually thought of receiving gifts; as we have matured, we more likely are thinking of returning the favor and giving gifts to our spouses, children, grandchildren, and those most dear to us. Nature, however, sometimes throws us a curveball, and injects some sadness into this glorious season.

 

This Christmas, some of our class members have experienced this sadness personally.  A previous post has recalled the passing of James Vincent, father of Gary.  Recently, two other classmates have also been affected by the death of a parent.  Marilyn (Allison) Gisi recently lost her step-mother, while Brian Johnson lost his mother.  Our condolences to both of these classmates on their losses. 

 

It was wonderful visiting with Marilyn.  Since high school graduation, we had only seen each other at the 20th class reunion in 1989.  She has retired after teaching kindergarten for some 22 years in Topeka, Kansas.  When many of us were that young age, we did not even have kindergarten, particularly those who attended the one-room country schools, as Marilyn had. 

 

My memories of  half-day kindergarten are playing in the sandbox, fingerpainting, taking naps on the little rugs we had, milk-breaks, recess, listening to Miss O'Toole read stories, learning our numbers and letters, and putting away the tinkertoys after playtime.  There was one boy in our class who was somewhat of a smart-aleck.  He would often correct Miss O'Toole when she was reading a story about Native Americans and their wigwams.  He would shout out "tepee" when she said "wigwam." She was gracious enough to accept the correction for the first few times.  After that, however, it was easy to tell that she was getting a little irritated at his grandstanding.  This same boy showed off by trying to drink his milk faster than everyone else.  One day, he drank it too fast.  As they were lining up to go out for recess, he was standing behind Bill Sherman, who was first in line.  He asked Bill if he could go first instead.  Bill kindly let him.  Not two seconds later, the boy vomited.  Miss O'Toole then sent him home, which was only two blocks away.  That does not seem to be the procedure that would have to be followed today.   

 

Now, kindergarten seems much more geared to academics, as the students begin to read and do simple arithmetic problems.  Is that a good thing?  To the best of my memory, we were not pushed like that, and our class did not fare too badly academically. 

 

Was also able to have a good conversation with Marilyn's brother, who was two years older.  Their family was one of the early ones to settle in Bookings county.  There was an Allison land office at one time on the corner of Main and 3rd., across from the old Montgomery Ward's Store (according to today's  Register of Dec. 30, 2017, the Montgomery Ward's store went out of business 50 years ago).  There was also an historic Allison house located a couple of blocks east on 3rd street (kitty-corner from our house).  It was removed a number of years ago to make room for the new public library.  Adjacent to that house was a small wooded area that served as a fort and playground for  us boys who lived in the neighborhood during the 50's.  This "forest" was cleared perhaps in the early 60's, becoming a vacant lot  for a few years, and providing a temporary field for impromptu football and baseball games.  In the mid-60's, it was graveled over and became a parking lot.  During that time, there was an old green army bus parked there for a few days.  That bus later became the infamous "Yellow Submarine" that some BHS athletic teams used to transport them to their games.  It made its last trip to Pipestone during our junior year.  The boys on that bus can tell that story much better than I can. 

Below is a picture of the Allison house and the land office.  The grey area on the right of the house looks to be a flaw in the film.  The Allison name in the bottom picture is difficult to see, and appears under the words "FOR SALE" and above the word "LAND."  According to the website https://www.sdstate.edu/sites/default/files/sdsuarchives/collections/upload/Brookings-Businesses-Avenues.pdf , this building was the land office for Andy and William Allison from 18880-1925.  Other additional businesses were also located on the premises.   An A. B. Allison is listed as having Sioux Valley Land and Loan company there in 1901.  In 1917-18, A. B. Chase had a real estate office there.  Any relation to Cheryl Crase of our class?  Some other notable business located there were Cook's Café (1950-54), which later moved to 407 Main, and Austin Food Store (1954-58), which later relocated to 813 Medary Ave.  The Cook's legacy is still to be found across the street, as a small eatery called Cook's Kitchen  is a regular gathering place for a number of local celebrities.  Max Austin, owner of the Austin Food Store, was about the age of my father.  Every once in a while, we would get milk there because it was cheaper than Spies.  Austin's price was three half-gallons for $1.00, while at Spies it was $0.40 for a half gallon.  However, we could walk to Spies in about a minute, whereas Austin's was a long ways for an 8-yar old. 

When we were in first grade, the building had outlived its usefulness, and was replaced by a brick building.  This new building had basements apartments, commonly referred to as the Duff apartments.  Near the alley behind this building, Mr. Duff had a long-time tire shop.  I believe he worked up to his nineties, and was the owner of the property.  The bottom part of the caption for the land office photo states the picture was from 1914, and "The fifth and sixth buildings on the block are still standing on Main and are now..."  The rest of the caption was on the next page, and read "Jim's Tap and George's Pizza."   

Some of us may have been students of Brian's mother, Lorraine Johnson.  My recollection is that she taught at Central when we were in grade school, and later moved to Hillcrest.  Before moving to Sunnyview in the early 60's, the family lived on Second Street between Medary and 11th Avenue.  I can recall playing over there one time.  In the summer of 1963, Brian was on our little league baseball team.  We had a really good team with Jim Kortan, Lonnie Herron, Rick Wahlstrom, Jim Egeberg, and some others whose names escape me.  When we began the play-offs, be played the Pirates, who also had very good team.  We were defeating them quite soundly and had a big lead when it began to rain just as Jim Kortan was coming to bat with the bases loaded.   The game was called and had to start over again the next day.  We lost 1-0.  Afterwards, Mrs. Wahlstrom scolded me for being such a poor sport and a poor loser.  She was right, and I slowly started to mend my ways.  It took a few years, as Craig Derscheid's dad reminded again the next year.   Some people are just slow learners.  I should have listened to Miss O'Toole back in kindergarten.  (I was the bratty one who blurted out when she was reading to us, and also the one who drank his milk too fast)

 

 Our thoughts and prayers go out to Marilyn and Brian at this difficult time. 

 

 

 

   

Parents

His name escapes me at the moment, but supposedly a well-known athlete was once asked what made him and other talented performers so proficient at their chosen sports.  His answer was brief and blunt:  "I chose good parents."

Obviously, he was being rather facetious, as it is rather difficult for most people to choose their birth parents.  Our class does, though, seem to have been abundantly blessed to have so many individuals "who have chosen such good parents."  Two of them were noted recently in the local media.

In the December 8, 2017 edition of the Brookings Register, the front-page headline read "Habitat house dedicated in memory of builders."  The Methodist Church "provided $100,000 worth of funding  significant amounts of labor..." for the Brookings Area Habitat for Humanity, and simultaneously honored two deceased members who were long-time volunteers.   Those two men were David McCaa and Lloyd Darnall.  The comments in the paper concerning the efforts of these two men truly display their unselfishness and love of neighbor. 

While Mr. McCaa may be unknown to many of us, Mr. Darnall, father of Sharon of our class, was certainly no stranger.  He became the city engineer for Brookings in 1961, and retired in 1985.  He obviously put his engineering skills to good use, as he is thought to have worked on about 60 of the 66 houses that have been built in the Brookings area, while Mr. McCaa lent his expertise on about 40 of them, 

Lynn Dahl, who began teaching Industrial Arts at the high school shortly after we graduated, said that Mr. Darnall "was a real perfectionist,"  and that, rather than using a level, he would use a plumb box to ensure greater accuracy.  Another volunteer noted that "Lloyd was always the one who laid out all the interior walls in the house.  That's what he liked to do.  And he always measured twice."  A common refrain from  industrial arts teachers is "Measure twice and cut once"  to make everything fit properly.  As the article stresses, Mr. Darnall was a mentor and teacher to numerous individuals.

Even upon retirement, he continued to volunteer for Habitat for Humanity, as is evidenced by his work on most of the houses that were built in the area.  "Lloyd was also a specialist at laying that (laminate) flooring,"  Jeff Grant noted.  "At age 90, he was down on his hands and knees laying flooring,"  Dahl added,  "and he could get up, too."  He was able to do this all day long, they said, while most of them could only last an hour or two at the most.   At our age, most of us can probably sympathize with these statements, but Mr. Darnall seemed to defy the aging process.

He was able to accomplish these feats because he kept himself in fine shape.  He would even lead the volunteers in stretching exercises so  they could try to achieve greater agility, efficiency, and flexibility. 

Mr. Darnall, who passed away at the age of 93 on September 10, 2016 (http://eidsnessfuneralhome.com/memsol.cgi?user_id=1851197), is certainly deserving of this honor.  His entire family can be proud of his achievements and the influence he had on their lives and the lives of others in the community.

Another elderly parent who lived even longer was Mr. James A. Vincent, father of Gary of our class.  Mr. Vincent recently passed away on Dec. 4, 2017 at the age of 97 (http://rudesfuneralhome.com/sitemaker/sites/RudesF1/obit.cgi?user=33746257_JVincent).  I knew virtually nothing about Mr. Vincent, but in the last few days, have come to respect him tremendously.
His obituary contains a brief recap of his life, but just scratches the surface of his importance to  his family and his country. 

At the visitation, Gary told me how lucky his father was to have had two wonderful marriages.  His father's first marriage of almost 33 joyful years ended when his wife Deloris passed away in December of 1982.  He remarried in October of 1991.  That second marriage had an intriguing twist.  My hearing is not as good as it should be, so I may have misconstrued the story somewhat.  It seems that Mr. Vincent's best friend died, and he ended up marrying his widow.   This marriage lasted 26 happy years.  All the children and step-children noted how enjoyable these years were. 

Gary and I also had an extended conversation about our high school track and field days.  Track and field was probably the weakest sport in the athletics department of BHS in our day.  We both had similar thoughts on the philosophy and training methods of those days.

At the funeral service, Mr. Vincent's stepson gave us a short history lesson about World War II.  As the obituary reads, Mr. Vincent spent about four years in Europe fighting in some of the most  historic battles on the European front. 

Susan, Gary's sister, told us of the enormous garden that Mr. Vincent planted, and the abundant crops that it produced.  One year, he had 76 tomato plants.  She empphasized that they canned not only tomatoes, but so many numerous other vegetables and fruits from their little acreage, that they had jars of canned good coming "up the wazoo."

Mr. Vincent loved to fish, and Gary told a story of the time his father asked him if he wanted to go along.  Even though Gary was recently married, he jumped at the chance.  His wife, though, felt left out, and asked "What about me?"  Mr. Vincent replied, "OK, but I'm not baiting your damn hook!."  As Gary told the tale, his wife outperformed them all, or at least caught the first fish. 

While funerals always carry with them a sense of grief and sadness, Gary recognized that it was time for his father to depart from this earth.  Since Mr. Vincent was still on the rolls of the Aurora VFW (American Legion?) , it was fitting that some of those members were present at the funeral to give a proper military send-off. 

How fortunate Sharon and Gary were to choose such wonderful fathers.  The poem on Mr. Vincnt's obituary sums up a philosophy of life rather succinctly (the images may be rather small; a left-click enlarges them so they may be read easier).